With Friends Like These: A Skyrim Fanfiction
by Lethe and Lyre
Summary: This fanfiction is set roughly ten years after the Stormcloak rebellion and after the Dragonborn vanquished Alduin the World-Eater. In this universe, the Legion defeated the Stormcloaks and killed Ulfric. The Dragonborn is still at large today, whereabouts unknown. The main character of this story is not the Dragonborn, but a simple mercenary…
1. Chapter 1- Client

"So I've heard you two are the best swords in Whiterun?"

Adaliah and Wynn turned from the bar, where they were immersed in ale and the vivid retellings of old adventures. A burly, severe-looking Nord woman stood, arms crossed, before them. She was clad in well-worn Imperial armor, and a small war axe hung at her broad hip.

"That depends who's doing the speaking," replied Wynn wryly, "Through, if you ask me, the best of anything are never so cheap as to be bought in an alehouse - with two obvious exceptions." Catching Adaliah's eye the old man muttered, "Mead and whores". Adaliah suppressed a chuckle.

The woman was not charmed. "Am I to understand that you are not the mercenaries I'm searching for, then? Or is your living so comfortable that you can afford to offend your clients?" Her eyebrows drew together piercingly.

Adaliah snorted into her tankard, earning herself another glare from the woman. Wynn always did the talking, always chose which jobs they accepted, and he had, indeed, lost a few with his barbed tongue.

"I certainly am most selective in my clients, madam," he quipped, "For...what it the saying... 'Better an empty pocket than a full grave'?"

"Yes!" the woman cried, exasperated, "But are you, or are you not, the reputed mercenaries Adaliah and Wynn?"

"Certainly, madam. At your service." Wynn smiled good-naturedly.

Their client looked puzzled but was lost for words. To spare her a further tongue-lashing from Wynn, Adaliah asked for her name.

"Rhawn," she replied, "Of Winterhold."

"Please join us, Rhawn of Winterhold," the old warrior said, suddenly business-like, "And we can discuss terms."

"It doesn't seem overly complicated", remarked Adaliah into the darkness. A long evening of storytelling, ale and fistfights had left her with a pleasant buzz and a heavier coin purse, but she wasn't yet sleepy.

Wynn stirred groggily in the bed across the room. "Yes, Liah, that's true. However, I can't help but feel suspicious of the whole affair. Maybe it's just my mind starting to go..." Adaliah rolled her eyes. Despite his mid-sixties age, she had never met anyone sharper than Wynn.

"It seems to me", he continued, "That the job is simple. So simple that Rhawn should have been able to manage it herself. Did you see her armour? Well worn, expertly cared for - we have not been hired by an amateur."

"We're cleaning out a bandit nest," said Adaliah, "Perhaps she fears their numbers?"

"She's an Imperial officer; she has numbers. Why would she come to us? Waste her own coin? And we're not even to do the job alone, we're offering her _assistance_." It was very dark, but Adaliah imagined him stroking his short grey beard thoughtfully.

"Well, we are quite _reputed_ ," she said with a grin. Wynn gave a watery chuckle which, within minutes, turned into snores as deep and loud as a cave bear's.

They met Rhawn of Winterhold, as agreed, outside the gates of Whiterun at dawn. The city's people were only just beginning to stir: Belethor's assistant chopping wood for the day, and Adrianna of Warmaiden's waking her forge. Their client was already there, waiting for them, but they were very surprised to find that she was not alone: two men stood near her, one a tall Nord warrior, the other a shrivelled cat-mage.

"Greetings, milady Rhawn," called Wynn as they approached. His tone was pleasant, but Adaliah noticed his sudden tension.

"Greetings, mercenary Wynn," Rhawn replied, "I trust last night's ale will not hinder our mission today?"

Wynn grinned wickedly, "A true Nord spends nights with an ale in one hand and a woman in the other, yet rises at dawn with steel in hand."

Rhawn scowled and turned away. "Allow me to introduce my companions: Tristan of Falkreath, and the mage Septhis."

Adaliah and Wynn nodded at the men. The first was very tall and lean, with a shaved head and face. Like Rhawn, his Imperial armour bore signs of frequent use. The mage was an elderly, stooped Khajiit, whose thick robes did not conceal the hump of his shoulders, nor his impatiently twitching tail.

"Pleasure," said Wynn airily, "Though I can assure you, Liah and I can handle this job without further assistance."

"They are my personal companions; they travel with me", Rhawn said firmly. Adaliah and Wynn exchanged a glance; Wynn's brow was furrowed. This mission was clearly not in their control. But, finding no argument against an additional two fighters, he asked no more questions, and instead began to chatter at the Khajiit Septhis as the group made its way to the stables.

"He doesn't talk," the tall warrior, Tristan, interjected, "Septhis can't speak our tongue." The Khajiit bared his upper teeth in agreement.

"Interesting," said Wynn lightly, "And yet, he understands?"

"Yes. I think he's simply too old to learn how to make the sounds of our language."

"You're never too old to make a change", said Adaliah, and Wynn smiled at her.

Their destination, the ruins of Helgen, was a day's ride away following a winding mountain path. As they made their way across the foothills of Whiterun Hold, Adaliah found herself riding near Tristan, who asked her friendly questions about life as a sellsword and the various jobs they'd taken on.

"I've often thought the work might suit me", he confessed, looking bashful.

"I'm sure your family would not much like your being away all the time", she replied.

"Oh, I'm not married. I was caring for my mother in Morthal until last year, when she passed, so I've been thinking of trying odd jobs since then. Now that I can travel, you know..." There was a pause as his voice trailed off.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, but it was her time. She lived a good life."

Adaliah smiled politely. She was practicing the art that Wynn knew so well: of always seeming open and pleasant, however suspicious one was.

Tristan changed the subject. "Is the old one - Wynn - a relative of yours?"

"Not by blood," she said carefully, "But he is like family."

He nodded. "I can understand that. Rhawn is like family to me, too. We served in the Legion together during Ulfric's rebellion."

Adaliah wondered about his not being married - he was easily ten years older than she- but thought it rude to ask. Instead, she remarked, "I am at a loss as to what she wants in Helgen. I thought the place was a ruin since that dragon attack".

"I truly don't know," Tristan shrugged, "She was quite quiet about the whole thing, which makes me think that it's Legion business. But I do know she lived there, years ago."

She pondered that, wondering what Wynn would make of that new information.

"So you grew up in Whiterun?" Tristan asked, ignorant of her distraction. Adaliah tensed at the question - _caution_ , she told herself, _always caution.. for her safety and Wynn's too..._

"I travelled here from High Rock a little at a time, doing mercenary work". The lie, Wynn said, was always best obscured with a little truth. "I met Wynn fighting some trolls near Riften".

"Really? I've only once met a troll, and thank the divines my pa was there to fight it off..."

Adaliah laughed and allowed the conversation to follow these less dangerous paths as the sun rose high in the sky.

Hours later, after a quick meal in Riverwood, the group found themselves on the steep, forested trail to Helgen.

"We make camp here until nightfall," Rhawn ordered, and the company tied off their horses in the forest, a little off the path. Septhis cast a flame wall spell on the ground, and they all gathered around it's roaring warmth.

"So, Commander, enlighten us as to our grand battle strategy," smiled Wynn, stroking his beard.

Rhawn's eyebrows contracted severely. "We raid by dark. There is no reason to discuss details at this time."

"With respect, madam, you hired us for our expertise," Wynn interjected, "It's what you're paying for. Adalaih and I can provide valuable insights when it comes to raiding bandits".

There was a long pause, and Septhis let out a choked meow. With what appeared to be an immense effort, Rhawn grit her teeth and said tensely. "Very well, mercenary Wynn and mercenary Adaliah. How would you approach this offensive?"

Wynn's plan was a simple one, tested and true, one they had used on many jobs in the past. At dusk, Adaliah, Wynn, and Septhis would stealthily approach the town walls. There was sure to be activity on the walls, and if they were lucky, they would hit the changing of the guard. Using arrows and magic, the three would eliminate as many guards as possible without being detected.

"And then?" Tristan's eyes were bright and attentive.

Wynn laughed, "And then we all charge in, watch each other's backs, and pray it doesn't all go to Oblivion!"

Rhawn frowned. "There is sure to be a bandit chief, one that is skilled, deadly and most importantly, in command. If we could kill him - "

"No chance, madam," said Wynn flatly, "This isn't the Legion. He isn't in command right now; he's inside with his gold and his wenches."

Rhawn opened her mouth to argue, but Tristan cut her off. "Let's do it their way, Captain. You hired the best, after all." She looked at him a long moment, then nodded in surrender. Wynn winked at Adaliah. For all his sarcasm and bravado, his manipulative prowess never ceased to astonish her.

Adaliah crept through the woods with practiced silence. No birds, nor wolves, nor human ear could tell of her movement. The sun was setting on Helgen, the mountains awash in rose and gold.

Suddenly, Adaliah held out her arm to stop Wynn in his stealthy tracks. She pointed to a bandit she had spotted atop the shoddy wooden wall: a man in an iron helm patrolled back and forth, carrying an axe in one hand and a bottle of ale in the other. A second guard was barely visible, father down the wall, but was too far away to see clearly.

She carefully knocked an ebony arrow and, after a nod from Wynn, let it fly. It whistled faintly as it split the night, but the bandit did not notice until it pierced his breast and he toppled forward. His companion, noticing a disturbance, hurried closer to investigate, but as soon as he was within range, Wynn silently conjured his destruction magic and incinerated his target in an explosion of flame.

"They might have heard that," hissed Tristan as he and Rhawn approached from behind. But the town remained dark and still, and together the company passed through the open gates .

The ruins, blackened by dragonfire, were crumbling and decrepit, but the old town showed signs of habitation. Salted meat hung drying on the rack and an alchemy table was visible along the interior walls, as was an active forge and bellows. Bandits and thugs, unaware of the intrusion, were scattered around, mostly drinking and gambling, but all were armed. Adaliah aimed her bow once more and managed to bring down two more, but as Wynn loosed a Firebolt spell, their comrades finally realised the danger and charged.

Blood rushed in Adaliah's ears as she drew her daggers. When a large, steel-clad she-bandit swung her warhammer at Adaliah with a cry of "Skyrim belongs to the Nords!" she was ready: she pounced, getting under the woman's guard, going for the throat. After drawing blood, she spun away, and the bandit was consumed by a fire spell of Wynn's.

Around the clearing, chaos reigned. Septhis sent shock spells knifing through the air like flashes of death, and Rhawn and Tristan battled mightily with a pair of orcs beneath the walls of the keep. The bandits were well-armed and fierce, but it was clear that none would match the combat prowess of herself and Wynn. When Adaliah dove and slashed, Wynn warded off incoming blows. When he struck out with sword or with fire, Adaliah covered his back. They attacked, retreated, killed with beautiful synchronization; death danced circles around them but they could not be caught themselves. A fierce laugh tore from Adaliah's lips as foe after foe fell before them.

When none were left to stand in their way, they ran, sweating and shaking with the heat of battle, to join their companions. "The chief," Adaliah panted to Rhawn, "Where would he be?"

"Probably under the keep" cried Rhawn, leading them to a previously unnoticed cellar door beneath the ruined tower. The five of them slipped below, and found themselves in a dark, eerily silent stone tunnel.

"Is anyone hurt?" barked Wynn, casting a Magelight on the cold wall. Septhis was working a healing spell on his arm, which was badly burnt. Tristan held his hand to his forehead, which bled steadily down his face.

"Nothing - just a scratch," he said with a forced smile when he saw Adaliah looking.

"Nothing serious," Rhawn confirmed, glancing around, "The chief is probably down this corridor somewhere."

They crept along, their stealth hindered by Tristan and Rhawn, who bumped and clanged. However, they encountered no one, just empty beds and the charred corpses of skeevers.

"I have a bad feeling about this," muttered Tristan. Septhis' tail was fluffed up in apprehension.

"Look!" hissed Adaliah.

An doorway, ajar, from which poured forth warm, flickering firelight.

"The chief's chamber!" whispered Rhawn, "I'll go, he must be dealt with quickly-"

"Liah will go" interrupted Wynn firmly, then turned to her. "As quickly as you can, little one. Be safe."

Adaliah nodded and drew her bow. She noiselessly peered into the room - the bandit chief, there, standing before the fire! His back was to the door - too easy! She slipped into the chamber, smoothly drew her bow and fired. The shot pierced the back of the chief's neck; he hit the mantle and fell backwards, belly up on the goatskin rug.

She made a small noise of satisfaction and stepped forwards to search his body - one of the many perks of being a mercenary - before the stopped short. Something was wrong.

The neck, skewered by her ebony arrow, was not bleeding: no hot red gush, no smell of rust and salt, just the rotting stench of death. The bandit's cloths were black with dried, hardened blood, hours old. And his shirt was torn across the stomach where a sword has pierced his flesh.

"I've been waiting here for hours, lass. What took you?"

Adaliah jumped, dropping her enchanted bow with a metallic clatter. She knew that voice. Her eyes searched the shadows.

And there, reclining like a king on the dead man's bed, red hair tumbling about his roguish face, was Brynjolf of the Thieves' Guild.


	2. Chapter 2 - Pieces of the Past

Time seemed to hold its breath as a thousand memories rushed to the front of Adaliah's mind. The words, the touches that had meant everything then nothing, the nights of heat and closeness...But it was all gone in a flash, leaving just Brynjolf in the fire-lit room, staring through her soul with those familiar, piercing green eyes.

The silence stretched on. Adalaih felt it was a contest and she could not lose; her hands shook. Finally, Brynjolf sighed, "You haven't changed a bit, lass. Stubborn as ever."

She raised her chin a fraction. "What are you doing here?"

"I told you - waiting. I even did your work for you." He gestured distastefully at the corpse on the floor. "You know I prefer to avoid murder, but he owed us money and like as not he was never going to cough up..."

"Adaliah?" Wynn pushed open the door. Catching sight of Brynjolf, he cursed and drew his blade, but Adaliah placed a hand on his shoulder.

"It's all right, Wynn, I know this man from...before." They exchanged a meaningful glance. Wynn's lips pressed together in disapproval, but he sheathed his blade as the others filed in.

Tristan looked around, bemused, but Rhawn saw the hours-dead body sprawled on the floor. "What in the Eight is going on here?" she exclaimed.

"Excellent question", said Wynn quietly, staring at Brynjolf with dislike.

But Brynjolf just smiled at Adaliah. "It's good to see you, lass. The Cistern is duller without your visits."

Adaliah willed herself to hold his gaze. "Don't let Tonilia hear you say that."

His warm face soured. "Don't start with that business, I've only just arrived. And this is the last place I would have liked to meet, believe me..." Brynjolf glanced at Wynn. "Is this your new man, lass? Bit old for you, don't you think? Though I suppose it's not all that different from Vex and Delvin..."

"Shut your mouth, boy, or I'll shut it for you," Wynn snarled, but Rhawn spoke over them both.

"I don't understand", she said, inspecting the chief's body, "My superiors said that there would be a troupe of warlocks, highly skilled... and that I shouldn't risk any of my own soldiers..." She looked at Adaliah, thinking hard. "Yet he was killed but such a simple blow..."

Low laughter rumbled forth from Brynjolf's lips. "One of my better ideas, that one. I had one of my lads plant that little tale. After all, if I had approached Adaliah out of the blue myself, I might not have survived - if I'd have been able to find her at all. So instead, I had her delivered..."

"What do you want," said Adaliah flatly. She knew better than to let Brynjolf start spinning his stories, his manipulative schemes.

He dropped the mocking facade and became serious. "I need to talk to you, lass. No one has seen hide nor hair of you for five years. Your 'family' would have us believe you were dead... but I knew you better than that. So I began searching..."

"And what do you want?" she repeated.

"To talk about what's been happening lately. My people are in trouble, and word around the Flagon is that yours are too."

"They're not my people anymore, Brynjolf," said Adaliah sharply, "I left that life behind me."

"Did you?" he raised an eyebrow, "Can you just leave a 'family' like yours in the past? Does a stain like that ever wash away? Is it possible to-"

"Enough, Brynjolf," she snapped.

He looked at her for a long moment, gauging the angry red patches on her cheeks, then ducked his head in false repentance.

"Apologies," he said carelessly, "But it's taken me two years of my people's resources to track you down. Forgive me for my frustration... and we do need to speak about this problem. I'm not about to let all of my invested time and money go to waste."

Adaliah believed him: if there was one thing that Brynjolf hated, it was a job unfinished... and if he's found her once he could surely find her again. She felt Wynn's disapproval as his gaze bored into the side of her face, but stronger than that, she felt the pull of the intrigue and mystery; the dark glamour of a fell conspiracy and the shining rewards that follow. "I left this behind," she thought, but her resolve was weakened by Brynjolf's presence. She turned back to him, his green eyes glowing in the yellow flames.

"When and where?"

"Make sure this letter gets to Legate Rikke," Rhawn ordered Tristan. "It's a confirmation of our Helgen occupation. Also, let Jarl Balgruff's people know that we're refortifying the town, and he'll need to release some soldiers to help garrison the place." Tristan nodded dutifully and pocketed the small scroll.

Adaliah, Wynn, Rhawn and Tristan stood before the Helgen gates. Rhawn tossed a heavy purse of gold to Wynn. "For your services. You were satisfactory yesterday and you have the Legion's gratitude".

Wynn smirked, eyes gleaming mischeviously, at the officer's stony thanks, and together he, Adaliah, and Tristan set out from the ruined town site. They were quiet as they rode, winding quickly down the mountain path. Shortly after passing through Riverwood, they came upon a pair of Skimitar-wielding warriors hunting a Redguard fugitive, but otherwise their progress was unhindered.

It wasn't until they emerged from the mountains at last and Whiterun was distantly in sight, that Wynn broached the topic of Brynjolf.

"So, we meet the thief at Honningbrew Meadery tomorrow at midday... and then what? What could that man possibly want?" Though he spoke in mutters to keep Tristan, riding ahead, from hearing, Adaliah could feel the anger in his flat voice and she understood. Five years he'd helped her hide from those who wished to hunt her down, five hard years of constant flight and secrecy. She was ashamed that, after all his sacrifice, she'd been tempted into meeting Brynjolf who was, if nothing else, a most passionate enemy.

"We don't have to meet him," she said softly, peacemaking, "He doesn't expect us until tomorrow... we have a night's head start to disappear".

"The game is up, Liah!" Wynn replied sternly, "It doesn't matter whether we meet or not - he found you. And if the Guild can find you, you know the... others can, too".

There was truth in his harsh words, and Adaliah should have felt a numbing fear, but instead she struggled to repress the twinge of excitement in her belly. A contract, after all these years: a plot, a conspiracy, a quest balancing on the edge of a knife and she wielded the blade...

Tristan slowed his horse to join their conversation. "So, Honningbrew Meadery, eh? Who exactly was that red-haired man?" Adaliah ignored him, but Wynn turned to answer.

"No one you want to meet on a dark night, boy. Now, there's the Western Watchtower - we make camp there until daybreak."

Adaliah took the first watch, leaning back against the abandoned stone walls, warmed by a small, crackling fire. Wynn slept deeply, snoring as usual, with his blade in hand. But Tristan was restless, tossing and turning until he finally sat up, rubbing his eyes.

"Why don't you let me take over," he said to her, "I can't sleep anyway."

She nodded and crawled over to her bed roll, setting down her bow within reach. But as she began to close her eyes, Tristan spoke.

"So you and the redhead in Helgen...?" His voice trailed off suggestively.

In response, Adaliah propped her head on her elbow and looked him square in the eye. He immediately realized he'd overstepped.

"I'm sorry - it's really none of my affair," he apologized awkwardly.

"That's alright," she said softly, as not to wake Wynn. Tristan nodded, flushing, and looked through the decrepit gate into the starry night.

She spoke slowly, surprising herself, "We were together a long time ago, and not for very long. I was younger, and more foolish... I'm better off now".

Tristan also seemed shocked by her unexpected honesty. He was quiet for a moment, when asked, "And he's a member of the...?"

"Thieves' Guild, yes."

"Then... so were you?"

"No," said Adaliah, beginning with truth, "But as a mercenary we've encountered them from time to time and I gained an insight into their world."

"And what did you think of their world?"

"It is not a life I would want for myself." Truth and lies, such an elaborate dance! She narrowed her eyes at the tall warrior. "You ask many questions, soldier."

He smiled lightly, and they were silent for a while before Tristan suddenly said, "I knew a girl like that once."

"A thief?"

"No - just a girl. Her name was Catelin... I called her Cat."

Adaliah was not sure what Tristan's point was, so she nodded politely, trying to keep her tired eyes from drifting shut.

"We met twelve years ago. I would have married her in a heartbeat. But this was all during the Stormcloak rebellion, and I was a Legion soldier. Catelin thought Ulfric was in the right, and ran off the join him... and that was the end for us. But every skirmish, every ambush, I was terrified that I would have to fight her." His face was distant, his blue eyes sad.

"It's not really the same situation," Adaliah corrected quietly, but Tristan shook his head.

"It is, though, Adaliah," he argued, "I was so lost without her, for a time. But think what would have happened if I would have followed her to Windhelm: I would have been defeated, held as a war prisoner or criminal, or I might have died! So my heart was broken... but I'm better off, too."

Adaliah looked at him thoughtfully. She'd never thought of Brynjolf as a blessing; even when they were together, she'd known he was a curse to the core. "If it weren't for Brynjolf," she wondered aloud, "I never would have met Wynn."

"Yes," Tristan smiled, "We're both stronger now."

She lay her head down on her bedroll, a smile on her lips, with a heart lighter than it had been all day.

Adaliah and Wynn said goodbye to Tristan just before midday. As he carried on to Whiterun to fulfill his orders from Rhawn, the two of them hastened to their mysterious meeting. Honningbrew Meadery was just as Adaliah remembered: warm, spacious, with a woodsy, flavourful smell that she had come to associate with taverns. Mallus showed them to a private room upstairs, where Brynjolf waited at a wooden table, toying absentmindedly with a golden decanter. He looked up as they entered.

"Let's make this quick, lass - I've got important things to do."

Adaliah nodded curtly, and she and Wynn sat down.

"So Maven Black-Briar's still has a foothold here, does she?" she commented, looking around.

Brynjolf grinned rougishly. "You bet, lass. Richer than ever, which would be excellent for the Guild if not for the situation..."

"Which is?" asked Wynn darkly. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

Brynjolf eyed him for a moment, deliberating, then said softly, "Nocturnal's gone quiet."

Adaliah frowned. "Is that unusual? I'm sure she has other concerns than your trite human lives."

"It's different this time. It hasn't been days, weeks or months - much longer than that. Years."

"How many?"

"Three. Three long, unlucky years."

"Wait a minute," interrupted Wynn, "Who is Nocturnal?"

Brynjolf snorted as Adaliah quickly explained, "She's the daedric patron of the guild, guardian of shadows; their divine, so to speak."

"The last time she turned her back on us, it was as a punishment and we were nearly destroyed," said Brynjolf flatly. "Karliah doesn't understand it; the Sepulcher is secure, the Skeleton Key hidden... We haven't done anything wrong."

Adaliah tensed, suddenly wary. "And what do you expect me to do about it? I'm not in your Guild."

"You know what," he replied, smiling grimly. "You're sworn to darkness, as I am. You need to help me save Nocturnal."

"Save? What do you mean, 'save'?" barked Wynn sharply.

Brynjolf rolled his eyes. "Haven't you been listening, old man? Nocturnal is a daedric prince and the only contact she ever has with mortals is through the Nightengales. If she - an immortal - has gone quiet for this long, then something is going very wrong."

"But there's nothing in Tamriel that could possibly threaten the Night Mistress," said Adaliah.

"I know it, lass. The threat to Nocturnal must come from Oblivion."

In spite of everything, Adaliah found herself leaning in, perched in suspense on the edge of her wooden chair.

He continued, "As if all this isn't odd enough, we've heard a rumour: your people have stopped taking contracts. They pull out of business at the same time Nocturnal disappears? It can't be a coincidence... they know what's going on."

"Have you asked them?" Wynn cut in coldly.

Brynjolf turned his mocking gaze on him, "You think we didn't try, old man? I spent a good three months trying to get in touch. Nothing worked; even old Delvin could contact them." He looked back to Adaliah. "But I'd heard that you, lass, had disappeared from their ranks... which made you the only way the Guild has to contact them."

"How long..."

"-to track you down? Two years. Two miserable years! While my Guild fell to shambles around me..." He put a hand over his face, and his voice trailed off despairingly.

Adaliah was almost fooled.

"So what do you want from me?" she repeated her earlier question. Conflicting desires warred within her.

Brynjolf dropped his hand and looked at her, intensity blazing in his green eyes. "I need to restore Nocturnal. But I can't do that without more information. And I need you to get that information for me, from your people."

Her blood ran cold. "My people?"

"Your family. The Dark Brotherhood."


	3. Chapter 3 - Sanctuary

"You're bloody mad, girl," growled Wynn. They were back at The Bannered Mare in Whiterun, tucked into a private back table, flagons of ale in hand.

"He found me, Wynn. What choice do I have?" Adaliah drank deep, keeping her voice low.

"We can disappear again, like you said before."

"But if what Brynjolf said is true, we can't ever disappear," she argued. "If Nocturnal is compromised, there's nowhere in Tamriel they wouldn't be able to find us."

Wynn narrowed his eyes shrewdly. "You are saying, you realize, that you'll walk willingly into the Brotherhood's Sanctuary? Exposing yourself for the first time in five years?"

"I know."

"You don't know how they'll receive you."

"I know that too."

The corners of Wynn's mouth drew tight but Adaliah continued persuasively, "If we do as Brynjolf asks and restore Nocturnal, we can vanish forever without a trace. How else do you think they found us in the first place? Nocturnal wasn't there to protect me."

"You're an assassin, not a thief."

She shrugged, "I've lived my life in shadow; Nocturnal doesn't care what for."

"But it matters, Liah!" he said sharply, "You gave it all up. You walked away from it all. We haven't been running for five years so you can waltz back to Brynjolf the moment he needs you."

Adaliah winced at that, and Wynn's voice dropped to a hiss. "Tell me the truth: how badly do you miss it?"

She could not lie to Wynn; for five years, they had shared everything. Her voice came out in a mortified whisper, "I do miss it. It was a part of me, all I ever knew... of course I miss it sometimes. But Wynn, " she looked pleadingly into his grizzled face, "I also know I was right to leave. I'm happy, working with you. Even if we do help Brynjolf and I see the Brotherhood, I could never go back to that life."

Sincerity rang in her every word, but Adaliah wondered if Wynn could sense the intrigue, the attraction that the dark world of shadows and knives would always hold for her...

A frown creased his brow as he looked down into his empty tankard. "If you think this is right, Liah, then I trust your judgement. But I warn you: don't get in too deep. Walking away from your past will be as hard again as it was the first time."

Adaliah nodded and drained her ale.

"That reminds me," Wynn said briskly, "I think we should have Tristan join us".

"Really?" Adaliah was surprised - Wynn was notoriously choosy about who they shared work with.

"Just as a guard; you said he was interested in mercenary work. And I got a good feeling from him before. Besides, if we're going to be in the Dark Brotherhood's backyard, I want as much steel around us as possible..."

She grinned, "Rhawn too, then?"

Wynn growled, rolling his eyes, and his complaints about their last client took them long into the evening.

The journey from Whiterun to Falkreath tool several long days on horseback. Wynn was surly and quiet throughout the journey and Adaliah was quite glad that Tristan has agreed to join their party. He was happy to fill the long silence with his easy, friendly conversation.

Adaliah soon learned quite a bit about her new companion. Tristan was taller by far than either of his parents, but the shortest of three brothers. He had grown up in the cold wetlands of Morthal and joined the Legion at sixteen. He loved the mountains, was good with a sword, and had a horror of vampires. He couldn't sing worth a damn.

While she enjoyed his lighthearted banter, Adaliah could not help feeling apprehensive. As he reminisced fondly of his past, she pondered her own dark history; stories she could never easily share. Inducted into the Dark Brotherhood before she was fourteen, where she began a bloody career as one of the most lethal cutthroats in the guild's history. She eyed Tristan warily as he spoke in his quiet, pleasant voice. He was kind to her, though he was a Nord and she a Breton. If he'd known her secret - that she was a deadly shadow; a knife in the darkness - would he turn away in hatred? Surely he would be disgusted and fearful - and rightly so! She was lethal, dangerous, monstrous. An abomination in the guise of a slight, dark-haired girl. And now she was about to confront her past, with him in tow...

"Adaliah?" He had noticed her preoccupation. "Are you all right?"

She smiled blandly, "Oh yes. Sorry... you were saying?"

It was a relief, despite the mission Adaliah was dreading, to arrive in Falkreath. The last days of their travels had been bitterly cold, alternating between snow and rain, and the moist chill clung to the mountains like fog to a river. Shivering, the trio gratefully sipped the cups of steaming broth that were set before them by Valga, the innkeep of Dead Man's Drink.

"Thank the Nine we're here," Wynn growled.

Tristan nodded fervently in agreement, but Adaliah was feeling anxious again. They were so close now to the family she'd left behind. She could not imagine facing them after being gone for so long. It was not their anger that frightened her; it was their sense of betrayal, which could quickly turn violent. Through she was not defenceless herself, Adaliah was not so arrogant as to face a nest of furious assassins without dread. Her hope was that her reputation would make them pause, at least, before they struck - giving her a few precious seconds to communicate.

"Adaliah?" Tristan's words pulled her, once again, out of her own thoughts. A frown creased his brow. "You haven't been yourself all day. Is something wrong?"

Wynn's gaze flashed to hers, warning her to be discreet: Tristan knew nothing of their true mission, after all. For now, he was no more than a hired guard...

"Just tired," she said levelly, returning to her broth. His clear blue eyes studied her a moment longer before looking away.

The three warriors, exhausted by their travels, were in bed early that night. However, Tristan was the only one who slept: Adaliah and Wynn sat side-by-side on her bed, discussing strategy.

"It needs to be now," she explained swiftly, "It needs to be tonight."

Wynn looked troubled. "I would prefer daylight, Liah..."

"You're not coming at all," she replied flatly, and he bristled.

"You can't possibly think - ", he began furiously, but she cut him short.

"If you walk with me into the Sanctuary, it will mean certain death for us both. It has to be me, alone, and it has to be now."

The muscles in his neck taut, Wynn struggled to speak calmly. "Why right now?"

"Because if they don't know I'm here now, then they will within hours. I need to establish contact first, before they try to kill me, or you, or Tristan if they know he's with us."

Wynn glared at her, and there was a long pause as his clever eyes swept over her face.

"You're sure this is the best way, little one?"

"It's the only way - I'm sure of it." Adaliah worked to keep her tone firm, trying not to think of what she was about to do.

He nodded, resigned, then gently kissed her brow. "Swift and quiet, Liah. Talos be with you."

She stood in a fluid movement, drawing her hood over her head and letting her dark hair fall around her face. Reaching deep into herself, into her past, she pulled the persona of the assassin from a sealed vault of memories. Her face smoothed into a mask and her eyes became cold and distant; her legs coiled, stealthy and prepared to spring; her left hand tingled with Illusion magic and her right itched for her dagger. She did not look back as she left the inn, leaving the mercenary Liah behind her.

For the first time in five years, the assassin Adaliah crept into the cold night.

" _What is the music of life_?" the ethereal voice breathed from within the Black Door.

She spoke the answer softly, as not to betray her fear. "Silence, my brother."

" _Welcome home_ ". It slid open noiselessly, revealing the Sanctuary's warm red glow. Steeling her heart, Adaliah stepped inside.

They were expecting her, of course. She wondered how soon after she'd arrived in Falkreath has they known of her return. They waited in the antechamber, at the bottom of the red-washed stairs, hoods up and blades drawn - greeting an enemy. Only Astrid, the Sanctuary leader, and her husband, Arnbjorn, had their faces exposed, though Adaliah knew the members so well she could have named them all easily. Her eyes sought Astrid's face, and she was not encouraged by what she saw there: teeth bared angrily, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Her husband, however, greeted her with a large, feral grin. "Hey, Beefroast!" Astrid silenced him with a hiss.

"So, Daliah," she spoke in her deep, sultry voice, "You've come home to us at last."

Adaliah inclined her head respectfully. "At last... I have been too long away. Greetings, Astrid... and my lost brothers and sisters."

"You seem sure of your welcome."

"I have no reason to expect otherwise."

"No reason?" a strained cry burst forth from the cloaked figure to Astrid's left. Adaliah recognized Festus Krex, an old mentor of hers. The mage crouched threateningly and let Destruction magic ripple across his palms, ignoring Astrid's warning glare. "I searched for you, girl, everywhere in Skyrim. No one hides from me: you were dead, taken into Oblivion!"

She forced a wide, cool smile. "And yet, here I stand. Are you not relieved, teacher?"

Spluttering, Krex fell silent and another red cloak spoke - and there was no mistaking the deep, rumbling voice.

"Is this going to be a more permanent stay, little sister?"

"Nazir," she greeted him with a rush of joy; he had been a true friend, years ago. "I'm afraid this is a simple visit. I came to reunite with my beloved family, if only briefly, and to take some rest at home in our Sanctuary".

Astrid was unimpressed. "I do not recall offering such... _liberal_... terms of employment." The daggers around her glinted menacingly.

Adaliah fought to keep her voice impassive. "And I do not recall the Five Tenets forbidding such a thing." Some of the assassins muttered at that, though Astrid's eyes gleamed in rage, and Krex gave his cackling laugh. Adaliah spread her arms wide in a peaceful gesture.

"Brothers, I know I have long been away and for this I beg your forgiveness. I have wandered Skyrim on a personal mission, moving through Nocturnal's darkness, and I return, not at the end of my journey, but to rest my weary head among my fellows." She thought she saw the silvery weapons lower slightly, and continued in softer tones. "Truthfully, I have also returned to make certain of your welfare... there are rumours in Skyrim that the Dark Brotherhood suffers. I am relieved to see that all of you are well..."

The Brotherhood looked to Astrid, whose expression was fierce. Adaliah's heart pounded in fear, and it took a great effort of will to stop herself reaching for her blade.

Finally, Astrid said quietly, "Peace, brothers. Give me some time with our lost sister." She turned away to her private chambers, and said over her shoulder, "Come, Daliah." The Brotherhood made way as Adaliah followed. She felt hands touch her arms, her back, with soft murmurs, welcoming her home.


	4. Chapter 4 - Night Mistress

Astrid was as beautiful and intimidating as Adaliah remembered. Her face was full and shapely, framed by locks of lush blonde hair. When she walked, it reminded her of a sabre cat's lilted gait. And, like most sabre cats, the Sanctuary's leader was glaring at Adaliah as if waiting for the best moment to strike.

"You disappeared."

Astrid's voice was low, growling, and Adaliah knew better than to interrupt.

"You were gone. Weeks turned to months... I sent them out looking for you. We searched and searched, the entire province. Finally, we gave up, thinking you were dead. That was five years ago, and today you decide to return... _why_?" Her face blazed in rage.

Adaliah looked her in the eye, deciding it was better to mince words. "You have stopped taking contracts. I worried for the safety of the Brotherhood."

Astrid pressed her lips together. "How could you possibly know about the Dark Brotherhood's dealings if you've been away for five years?"

"I am an agent of darkness, as are you."

"Hmmm," Astrid considered, "You haven't been in contact with the Thieves' Guild, have you?"

Deciding that in this case truth was the better option, Adaliah replied, "That is where I heard the rumour, yes. I take it that Delvin Mallory has been trying to get in touch?"

"That's right. We haven't been very... responsive to his advances. He can be far too interested in the Dark Brotherhood's business".

"Then I'm sure you already know what has happened with Lady Nocturnal."

A tense silence filled the room before Astrid replied with a slow smile. "Yes. I was made aware of the Lady's disappearance almost as soon as it took place. It pays to have a family with such as ours, with gifts for stealth and eavesdropping."

"And on whom did they eavesdrop? The Thieves Guild did not realize the change for months." Adaliah shifted her weight impatiently. The knowledge she was after was here, it existed...but how to get it?

The wicked smile on Astrid's face widened. "Now why on earth would I share that private information with a renegade like yourself? I know that you're more _connected_ " - Adaliah flushed - "to that pack of Riften skeevers than the rest of us, but I was under the impression that you'd disappeared from them, too. And we both know that your appearance here today is not merely a social visit, so tell me: what could you possibly stand to gain from helping them?"

Thinking hard, Adaliah bowed her head in a show of humbleness. "I have lived my life in shadow, with the blessing of Lady Nocturnal, as have we all. I seek to protect my way of life, and that of the Brotherhood. If it serves the Thieves' Guild also, so be it. But I place my own survival first, as I have always done."

"Finally, an honest answer," Astrid laughed darkly. Her eyes gleamed in satisfaction. "Yes, Nocturnal is gone at the moment and yes, I have pulled the Brotherhood out of Skyrim. But this has less to do with Nocturnal and more to do with Boethiah."

Goosebumps erupted across Adaliah's skin. "The daedric prince of conspiracies and treachery?"

"Oh yes. We became aware of some sort of conflict between the Cult of Boethiah here in Skyrim, and Nocturnal's Thieves' Guild... and the danger was such that I could not allow the Brotherhood to roam Skyrim's shadows any longer. We've been making sufficient coin running jobs in Morrowind, however..."

Adaliah did not care about the Brotherhood's profits. "I do not see why we assassins should be fearful of the cult."

"They are not just a cult any more, darling. Veezara reported to me that they were...possessed. Lifeless thralls with no sense of self, simply slaves to her will. And you know how Beothiah so enjoys violence...Veezara barely made it back alive to report to me. They followed him here, to Falkreath - only our Sanctuary protected us."

"The Sanctuary was discovered?"

"Discovered? No, you foolish girl. The agents are simply highly skilled zombies. They have no intellect, no memory... they simply hunt anyone who is associated with Nocturnal. And though Riften has suffered far more deaths than us, there was no denying the danger. And besides the risk to my family, we could not run jobs properly without being chased by hordes of Boethiah's faithful, so we have retreated from Skyrim at the moment, until holy Sithis sees fit to save us."

Adaliah's head spun. Boethiah, the most ruthless, violent, and evil daedric lord was hunting those protected by Nocturnal? She could not make sense of it, but then who could understand the motivations of the daedra in Oblivion...

Astrid spoke again, her voice a soft purr."I have missed you, little sister. Always so skilled, so merciless... if times were different I wouldn't allow you to leave until you had proved your loyalty once again."

"There has never been cause to question my loyalty to the Brotherhood."

Astrid laughed. "As you say, Daliah. Go, then... see if you can get Brynjolf to clean up this mess. And when things are as they were, I'll expect you back..." Adaliah heard the lingering threat behind the honeyed words, and suppressed a shudder.

She left the Sanctuary without another word to anyone, though her brothers and sisters waited in the hall, and prayed to Nocturnal that she would never have to return.

The moment the Sanctuary door closed securely behind her, she was surrounded. Possessed cultists, dressed in grey robes and wielding distinctive-looking daggers pressed in from among the trees. Orcs, Bretons, Altmer, Nords... every warrior had eyes that glowed with daedric light, and moved with a lethal sense of purpose.

Adaliah did not think, just reacted. One hand, tingling with Illusion magic, cast a spell of invisibility, and the other drew her dagger. Her body disappeared and she moved as quickly as she could away from the center of their ranks. An orc rose to block her way, seemingly able to sense where she was, and Adaliah stabbed him in the chest. To her amazement, he seemed not to notice the strike that would have killed an armored warrior, and lashed out instead with his own dagger. Her invisibility spell broken, Adaliah only just managed to duck in time.

Changing tactics, she cast a spell of Muffle and dodged as quickly as she could into the trees. The cultists pursued her, but they were neither as swift nor as skillful; however, their numbers were plentiful and they managed to clip her right shoulder with one of their blades. The pain nearly caused her to collapse, but upon hearing the thunder of their pursuit, survival instinct took over and she pumped her legs as hard as she could, stumbling through the dark.

The trees turned to dark blurs around her as she fled, clutching her wound. Finally, she could make out the torches of the Falkreath gates and she ran faster, her vision flickering at the edges. She could no longer feel her right arm.

"Stop right there, you!" cried one of the guards, alarmed by her gory figure and the rapidity of her approach. But she did not slow down, and made it through the heavy wooden gates before they swung shut. Adaliah heard the guards yelling and arrows whistling through the night, but the sounds suddenly felt very far away.

"Adaliah!" a familiar voice echoed inside her head as her legs gave way. She toppled forwards into the cold, wet mud and her world went quiet.

The first thing she became aware of was a steady rocking sensation, which was as comforting as it was confusing. She was very warm, and noticed that her cheek was resting against something that felt like soft leather. Her eyelids flickered as she adjusted to the cool daylight.

"How are you, little one?" Wynn, astride his brown stallion, cantered up to her. She looked around and realized that she was seated behind Tristan as he rode his mare. Her armour was strapped to Tristan's and kept her from sitting up straight. As she moved to undo the straps and buckles she realized that her shoulder was healed.

"I am well." Adaliah looked at Wynn soberly. "Thank you for healing me."

Wynn smiled, his expression soft, and Tristan spoke up. "You scared the life out of us - one moment I was asleep and the next this crazy old man was kicking me awake and you were bleeding out on the porch."

"Watch who you're calling crazy, boy," Wynn bristled. "You weren't so calm when you thought she was dead."

Adaliah saw Tristan's shaved head shake back and forth. "Yes, well..."

"Where are we?" Adaliah undid the last of the belts and sat straighter, stretching her arms. She noticed that her own mare was being towed by Wynn's horse, who did not seem pleased about the arrangement.

"We're nearing Ivarstead, south of the Throat of the World," Tristan replied.

Ivarstead! So they were heading into the Rift - Wynn must have guessed that a meeting with the Theives' Guild would be inevitable. "How long was I out?"

"Not for too long," said Wynn gruffly, "It's only the afternoon and we've been riding since you were injured. You just needed to sleep off the wound, that was all." Adaliah nodded gratefully.

They had just reached the southern coast of Lake Geir when Wynn ordered a stop for the night. As Tristan moved away into the forest to collect firewood, he pulled her aside.

"The boy's been asking questions about you and about our job," he hissed urgently, "I haven't given him much, and he's bound to ask you soon. Be mindful of what you share." Adaliah nodded and Wynn turned away to tend the horses.

Soon, the three of them sat before a roaring fire, devouring roast salmon caught from the lake. Adaliah was starving - she could not remember the last time she'd eaten meat. Wynn was soon sound asleep, clutching his swollen belly, and she and Tristan cheerfully discussed the day's adventures.

"You terrified me," Tristan admitted, looking embarrassed. "There I was, sound in bed, and suddenly all I could see was Wynn's magic and your blood everywhere." He placed a hand on her back for a moment, as if in comfort, then awkwardly let it drop.

She smiled shyly, feeling a rush of affection for the tall warrior. "It wasn't my best night," she allowed.

Tristan looked troubled. "Wynn won't tell me much, but I need to know... what exactly happened last night? What kind of job did the thief give us, exactly?" He spoke more to the glowing embers than to her.

There was a long pause as Adaliah considered his question, and Wynn's warning. "Brynjolf needs certain information from... a very powerful group of people. That's what Wynn and I were hired to do, and the ... soldiers... who chased me were employed by those people."

"That's basically what he told me," said Tristan in frustration, gesturing towards Wynn. "I usually don't give my sword to causes I don't understand."

Adaliah glared at him, the feelings of warmth vanishing. "You are with us as a guard," she said defensively, "If that's too complicated for you, you're free to leave."

He glared back at her, matching her ire. "Do you really think that I'm the sort of man to walk out on a job? Abandon my friends in the wilderness? What have I done to earn your distrust?"

"Then take my explanation or leave it," Adaliah snapped, "But it's all you're getting from me."

"I'll take the first watch," Tristan said coldly, and marched off towards the lake. Unhappy with their exchange, but nonetheless exhausted, Adaliah crawled into her bedroll.

She suffered an uneasy sleep that night. Her dreams took her to strange places, her consciousness dwelling on the Sanctuary, and Tristan's angry face, and the grey-clad cultists who chased her, glowing with daedric magic. She fled through her dream forest, all dark shapes and confusion, and suddenly she was with Tristan by the fire again.

He leaned in and whispered into her ear, "I cannot protect your secrets if you do not trust me with them." She protested that she could not possibly share her darkest self with him, that he would turn away, repulsed. But as she tried to explain this his soft mouth came down on hers, parting her lips, and her words were lost. His arms held her as if she were innocent and precious, not a killer, not a murderous assassin, and she found that she was gripping him closer instead of pushing him away.

When Wynn nudged her awake for her watch, dawn was just beginning to creep over the eastern mountains. Her dreams haunted her thoughts, and she could not help but glance over from time to time at Tristan's sleeping form. Was it possible that someone like Tristan, who was kind and good and whole, could care for someone like her, whose life's work was baptized in blood and fear? _No,_ she told herself, _he must never know. He could never understand._

She looked instead at the fading stars overhead, the twin moons in the dimly lit sky, and tried to accept that, but for Wynn, she would always truly be alone.


	5. Chapter 5 - Windhelm

"So let me get this straight, lass," Brynjolf growled, " _Boethiah_ is responsible for Nocturnal's disappearance? We're involved in some sort of _war_ between the daedra?"

Adaliah nodded, and he exhaled sharply. The two of them sat at a rickety old table in the Ragged Flagon, Brynjolf's favorite haunt. Wynn had taken Tristan with him to barter with some of the loot they'd picked up in their travels - Adaliah suspected that this had more to do with the frostiness between herself and Tristan than with his dislike of Brynjolf, but she could not be sure.

Reuniting with the Thieves' Guild had been, strangely, much more comfortable than meeting her family again. Old Delvin Mallory had eyed her appreciatively as she greeted him, teasing her with suggestive one-liners. Vex, rolling her eyes, had been curt as ever, and Dirge's threatening demeanor hadn't changed at all. The others had said a quick hello, offering her archery or pickpocket lessons which she declined. Tonilia alone had been cold, knowing the relationship she had once had with Brynjolf, who was now fuming over his ale.

"Well, that's just bloody wonderful," he cursed, "As if we didn't have enough to deal with already… Karliah's worried sick, I've lost more members this year than ever before, and our profits are at an all time low..."

"So what's the next step for us?" Adaliah interrupted.

Brynjolf had his face in his hands and took a moment to answer. "I suppose we'll have to sever the head of the enemy. Doesn't Boethiah have a shrine, somewhere to the north?"

"Probably," she replied with a nod, "But you didn't see her warriors, Brynjolf. They were… I can't explain. Like nothing I've ever seen. I stabbed one through the heart and it didn't even blink."

He pondered that, looking thoughtfully over the pool of stinking saltwater. Finally, he spoke: "Look, lass, I know you're no soldier, but you're not innocent, either. I don't want to ask you to raid the place alone, but I need to know what I'm dealing with."

Her eyes narrowed, "What are you asking me to do?"

Brynjolf looked at her in his calculating way. "I need you to scout Boethiah's Shrine for me. I need to know the numbers, the layout… the usual stuff."

 _Wynn is going to kill me_. "You do realize you're paying for my services," she said wryly.

He narrowed his eyes. "No favors for old friends, then?"

"Of course… but you and I have never really been friends, have we?" She stood to leave, tossing some coin onto the table.

Brynjolf eyed her up and down, grinning mischievously. "We were more than friends, lass. And if I recall, that was one service I didn't have to pay for." His hand reached out to caress her thigh.

She moved away, cursing at him, and Brynjolf chuckled.

"You and I both need Nocturnal back for our own reasons, lass. Don't get yourself killed."

As she predicted, Wynn was not happy about their next job, and he muttered murderously to himself as they left Riften. To appease Tristan, Adaliah shared the scouting mission with both of them. Though he seemed to sense that he was still not getting the full story, Tristan was slightly mollified.

"We're going to be facing the cultists who nearly got me," she warned them, "Which means we need to be extra careful… they don't seem to be bound by normal human laws."

"How so?" Tristan asked.

It was Wynn who replied. "Well for one thing, the guards who fought them off at the gates had a hard time killing them - though we didn't stick around long enough to see if they'd even managed to defend the town. And if you knew Adaliah at all, you'd know that tracking her through the forest at night is nearly impossible, and a whole pack of these cultists had no trouble with it. It's as if they aren't using their human senses, and are guided by something stronger." His eyes flashed to Adaliah's face. They both knew what drew Boethiah's followers: an allegiance to Nocturnal.

"Boethiah's magic?" Tristan suggested.

Wynn nodded, indulging him. "Could be, boy."

The tree of them rode steadily north through the Rift. Wynn seemed to recall that the Shrine to Boethiah was located in the mountains near Windhelm, but was not wholly certain. Now and then Adaliah caught a lingering stink of sulfur from where the hot springs bubbled around them on the rocky tundra. Geysers erupted from time to time, and giants could be seen tending to their mammoths, paying little attention to the tree travelers, for which Adaliah was glad.

"I remember when crossing this area was impossible without being attacked by a dragon," Tristan commented to her. She nodded remembering - she'd been quite active in Riften at the time.

The journey should have taken them only a few days on horseback, but the road became increasingly difficult with each passing hour. Blizzards rolled in, blinding them with bright, cold snow, and their footsteps were dogged by frost trolls and frostbite spiders. A week passed before they neared Windhelm, and then their travels became downright treacherous: bandit attacks and the draining weather left them bruised and exhausted.

"Candlehearth Hall has the best ale in Skyrim," Wynn told Adaliah, "And warm beds for cold nights like these."

"I've been before," supplied Tristan, "During the Legion's occupation of Windhelm. It's a nice place."

Adaliah could not deny the temptation of a warm, soft bed after the last week of cold and snow, and they made for Windhelm, galloping through the night as quickly as they could. She had only set foot in the ancient city once before, many years ago. As she had then, Adaliah found Windhelm to be bestial and frightening with its black stone walls and howling gales. Thousands of years of history seemed to hiss and whistle through the cracked architecture, and it set Adaliah's teeth on edge.

However, the inn proved to be warm and welcoming. Adaliah and Wynn made their way to the bar on their own as Tristan went upstairs for a nap. A buxom middle-aged barmaid set drinks before them, and Wynn's eyes followed her as she walked away.

Adaliah noticed and grinned. "Oh, go and get her - it's not like you've anything better to do."

Wynn smiled guiltily and peeked at her with a sly expression. "There's nothing I'd rather be doing right now than sharing drinks with an old friend. Though, perhaps, the same could not be said for you…"

"I don't know what you mean," she replied, taking a hearty sip.

He laughed. "So stubborn, Liah…" Together, they finished a few more drinks, enjoying the warmth and each other's company. A bard struck up a merry tune, and the tavern filled as the evening progressed.

Wynn was getting quite drunk and stood up rather abruptly, swaying. "I'm going to talk to the bar wench now, if you'll excuse me…" Adaliah laughed as he stumbled down the bar, and she returned to her tankard, content in the murmur of voices around her and the Nordic music.

"Need another?"

Tristan sat in Wynn's empty seat, pushing another ale across the counter towards her. She hadn't even noticed him approach.

"Oh, hello," she greeted him and he laughed.

"You're slurring already, Liah. How many drinks have you had?"

She tried to count but could not focus - no one every called her Liah but Wynn… "I shouldn't have much more. We've got a long way to go tomorrow…"

"Last one, then," said Tristan, raising his tankard. She tapped her mug to his. "To… our adventure so far," he toasted.

"Long may it last, " finished Adalaih with a grin. She took only a small sip, conscious that the room around her was starting to wobble.

"Aren't those wedding words?" Tristan remarked.

"Sorry?"

"What you just said: "long may it last"?"

"Are they? I don't recall." She'd only ever been to one wedding, and it had been an unfortunate affair…

"But then, I've never been married, so what do I know?" he laughed, and she laughed with him.

"Nor have I," she agreed. Now she could hear her own words slurring. _Bed, after this drink_ , she thought.

Tristan looked at her for a long moment. His eyes were so clear, so blue, and she felt embarrassed.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Why not what?"

"Why have you never been married?"

Adaliah blinked at the intimate turn the conversation had taken.

"I told you my story," he reminded her. "And you're what, twenty-five?"

"Twenty-three."

"Oh… twelve years younger than me. You seemed older, for some reason." He frowned thoughtfully.

Adaliah's inebriated mind whirred frantically, and she finally replied, "My circumstances were never quite right for marriage."

"Not right when?"

"Ever." That was as honest as she could possibly be - no man in his right mind would ever marry an assassin.

"Was there anyone you… considered?" He was obviously thinking of Brynjolf.

Adaliah laughed, trying to make light of it. "Not really." She was eager to steer the conversation into safer waters, but Tristan seemed preoccupied. She noticed that the short beard he's grown since their travels began had a reddish gold glow to it, warm in the firelight. Adaliah blushed, suddenly feeling wrong about looking at his face so closely. _Time to go, I think_ …

She drained the last of her ale and pushed the empty mug across the counter, towards the server, reaching across Tristan as she did so -

And she was not sure how it happened, but suddenly Tristan was kissing her, deeply, both hands tangled in her dark hair. It was her dream over again, and whether it was the ale or the warm the or the fire-lit room, Adaliah was overwhelmed. She felt herself move closer to him as though her body was outside her control. Her fingers rested on his chest, and she could feel his heat through his linen shirt.

His arms wrapped around her slight frame and pulled her closer still. As their bodies pressed together, she felt both his arousal and his heartbreaking tenderness… her veins flooded with fire, the fire usually reserved for combat, for murder, for the flash of a blade and the hot rush of blood…

With a horrified gasp Adaliah pulled herself free and fled the room. She burst through the doors into the snow-blanched night, where she paused, the alcohol slowing her senses, unsure of where to run to. Tristan ran after her and his eyes found her, alone in the snow; his expression was equal parts confused and concerned.

"Liah, what -?"

She turned to flee, but Tristan grabbed her wrist.

"If I overstepped, I'm truly sorry - I would never -"

"It's not that," Adaliah cried, wrenching her arm free. She looked around desperately, wishing Wynn were here - he every instinct screamed at her to hide, to melt away into the night, but Tristan's gaze held her still.

He ran his hands over his face in frustration before looking at her pleadingly. Blue eyes, so clear and so sad…

"I don't mean to... attack you when you were drunk, Liah - I'm so sorry -"

"It's not -"

"Hang on," he spoke over her, "Just give me a chance, here. I haven't felt this way about anyone, not since I almost married Cat all those years ago…"

Adaliah didn't want to hear, to recognize what he was telling her; she didn't want those feelings, from him or from anyone. Her twisted self would only destroy him. With an effort, she made her voice cold and distant. "You don't know me, Tristan. We are practically strangers."

"That maybe true, Liah, but it doesn't feel that way to me," he argued with such obvious sincerity that she felt her chest cave in. "These last few weeks, the battles we've fought, we've done all of it together."

She shook her head, ready to argue, but he strove on.

"I know more than you think I do. I know you and Wynn are hiding from someone and that you have been for years, and I know Brynjolf is connected to that somehow. I know that you, little as you are, are more lethal with a dagger than anyone I've ever met, and I can see in your haunted eyes that you - twelve years my junior! - have witnessed horrors that I, who have been to war, cannot even imagine…"

She stood frozen in the snow, her mind reeling with bloody memories. Dozens, hundreds of innocent lives she'd ended, strangers she'd killed for no reason other than that she was ordered to; she'd revelled in her power, in her god-like influence as she decided who perished and when; and when her enemies looked around to find the murderer in their midst, she'd disappear into the shadows, never reaping the consequences…

Tristan drew closer, and gently bushed her windblown dark hair out of her eyes. His voice drew soft. "Despite all that, you're here with me: brave as a cave-bear, kind, beautiful, and so… contained within yourself. You've enchanted me." A gentle smile tugged at his lips. His body had been so warm and smooth…

She could not bear to disillusion him, to burden him with the heavy truth.

"I can't," she whispered, and pushed past him back into Candlehearth Hall. He did not follow.


End file.
